


Sugar High

by koujakrude



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Hair Pulling, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Rimming, bones crack, brief mentions of byleth, no beta we die like Glenn, they both fuck, they're older
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24129010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koujakrude/pseuds/koujakrude
Summary: Charles Boyle is right when he says the most intimate thing you can do is wash your lover's hair.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Sugar High

The water is warm as it splashes onto his head. Fingers act as a bridge against his forehead, ensuring that no soap travels anywhere where it isn’t wanted. He feels calloused pads roll in circular motions as they grind up dirt and oil from the days journey. This moment between them is when he is most unguarded; he trusts completely the gentleness of hands that work their way into his longer strands, the strong torso that supports his tired body.

It’s nice. Felix himself doesn’t concern himself much with his hair (he’s not Ferdinand or Dorothea), but the attention is welcome. His hair grows long quickly, and as he busies himself with playing diplomat, his go-to has become a simple ponytail. Though to his chagrin, there are locks that refuse to be tamed so easily.

Sylvain pours more water over him. His hands travel down Felix’s neck and digs in, working at the knots that have twisted up muscle. Suds dissolve in the water, and Felix examines the wrinkles that develop on his fingers.

“You’re getting too old to work yourself up like this,” Sylvain says. Felix rolls his eyes, not caring that his lover can’t see him. He knows Sylvain will pick up on it.

“If I’m old, you must be near ancient.”

“Damn right. Respect your elders,” Sylvain chides. Then, more gently, “but seriously, things are good right now, you don’t need to push it like before.”

Felix turns slightly to glance at him. Water sloshes at the movement but doesn’t splash outside the tub. “You should know things could change at a moment’s notice.” Sylvain sighs and nods, his arm gliding down Felix’s shoulder.

“Sometimes, I think that way of living grows to be a little wearisome. I can’t stay alert all the time anymore. I’m tired.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a while. He lets Sylvain wrap his arms around him again, relishes as his lips brush against the side of his head.

Crickets and katydids begin their nightly song, and Felix can see the purple orange sky fade slowly. The prune-y texture against his skin begins to bother him, so Felix pulls himself forward and out of the tub, turning back to hold out a hand to Sylvain. His boyfriend looks up at him with affection. But Felix can see the exhaustion underneath his eyes, the slow blinks speed up as the cold air nips at his bare skin. Grey strands of hair interrupt between the fading red. He is beautiful.

“Still got it,” Sylvain winks. Felix sighs, but there’s no judgement behind it. He kisses his husband on the lips and admires the soft, plump skin.

They dress into their night clothes, and Sylvain lights a candle before he props a book open across his lap. Eyeglasses find their way onto the bridge of a freckled nose. Felix crawls in from the other side, pulling the duvet up around him. He then scoots closer to Sylvain, wordlessly demanding to be let in. Sylvain lifts an arm, adjusting his book so that Felix can read with him, though he’s unlikely to actually follow the story. One hand holds the book open, while the other threads itself into Felix’s locks once more. It’s getting long.

“What’s the story about?”

“Ashe lent me this one, I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Knights again?”

“Knights again.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Well, right now Sir Vaike has finally reached the battlefield, but has lost his axe on the way. Professor would probably have our hides if any of us did that.”

“No dumb-ass brings only one weapon with them. Of course, she’d skin us if any of us acted like that.”

They say this in jest. Byleth has been a fleeting presence in their lives. As far as they knew, she was travelling with Dorothea’s opera around the country, picking up spare mercenary work if necessary. Letters were short, but they knew she was happiest with her wife.

“Maybe we should invite them to dinner if they tour nearby,” Sylvain says, flipping to the next page. Felix hums in agreement.

“Getting tired?”

“Mm, it’s fine.”

Sylvain blows the candle out, dog-earing his page and setting the book down on the bedside table. He folds his eyeglasses carefully, making sure that they are indeed on the table and not under his pillow, where they would meet the same crushed fate of their predecessors. They settle down under the covers together, Sylvain’s fingers ghosting up and down Felix’s back. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Felix replies. He likes being held, being cared for; so many years of being guarded and cold and angry ate away at his being. He’s still on edge, some days worse than others, though the War is long over.

Tonight, he’s relaxed. He doesn’t care that the hand touching him slowly comes to a stop, or that gentle snoring rumbles from Sylvain’s chest. His own breathing evens out soon enough as sleep guides him away.

-

The teeth of a comb bite into the knots built up in last night’s tossing and turning. Sylvain works at them with diligence, smoothing the hair out with a light oil and repeating the steps until he finishes, fingers twisting random strands into loose curls.

“I think you could pull off a French braid.” Felix looks at Sylvain through the mirror as a dark brow slowly raises in question.

“You’ve been paying a lot of attention to my hair lately. Time for a career change?”

“You do look rather sexy right now, if I do say so myself. I’m great with hair.”

Felix shakes his head and smiles. He reaches out for the hair tie on the counter, reaching back his hair and gathering it into a thick bundle. Before he can complete the process, Sylvain wraps the tail around his knuckles and tugs ever so slightly.

“I’m serious, you’re beautiful. Sexy. I think your hair is my favourite part.”

“What if I cut if off?”

Sylvain pouts, his grip firm on Felix. “Ultimately, that’s your choice…”

“But?”

“Well, it’s a big butt.”

“Cheeky this morning, aren’t you.”

“Okay, well, now I think I’m allowed to do this,” Sylvain says, tugging a bit harder on Felix. He lets himself stand up, doesn’t argue as hair sweeps across his shoulders, smiles as lips peck up the side of his neck. Sylvain’s hands find a familiar place at his hips, clearly admiring the toned muscle underneath pale flesh. Three beauty marks stand out and branch from hip bone to the trail of hair that peeks out the top of his pants. Sylvain raises a hand to twist Felix’s mouth towards his own and breathes a note of relief at the touch.

Felix pushes for more, his arms wrapping around Sylvain’s neck, securing him in place. He can taste the remains of the mint leaves on Sylvain’s teeth. A tongue tickles the roof of Felix’s mouth, forcing him to break away and breathe.

“That’s not fair,” Felix would never admit to pouting. He’s above that, at this age, at this stage in his relationship. They aren’t teenagers anymore, creaming their own pants at the slight tug of their cocks.

“What can I say? I like to play dirty.”

Felix feels hands interlock underneath his ass that prompt him to wrap his legs around the support and let himself be carried backs to the bed. He isn’t thrown, not quite, and the vertebrae in his back are grateful. Felix hears a distant joint crack and looks to see that Sylvain has his knee on the edge of the bed.

“That was a loud one, wasn’t it?”

“Fuck, we’re old.”

“Hey, my bones have been cracking at the ripe age of sixteen,” Sylvain says, crawling over and straddling his hips. “Thank the gods I was never assigned stealth missions.”

“They’re gonna stop assigning you sex missions if you don’t get this going,” Felix jabs.

“Needy.”

Sylvain kisses his lips again, his tongue licking against Felix’s parted lips. Felix moans, just a little, and wraps his hands around the back of Sylvain’s head, fingers spreading across the nape. He can feel Sylvain mirroring his movements and a firmer grip on his loose hair.

He’s flipped around before he can reach up for another kiss, his face momentarily planted in the pillows before being yanked up and hips rolling against his backside. Oh fuck. Felix braced himself against the mattress and pushes back against Sylvain as his eye glances back to watch his reaction.

“Needy, so needy,” Sylvain whispers, free hand applying pressure between his cheeks, thumb breezing over Felix’s entrance. “Bath time not enough for you? Cuddles not enough? Always needing more, more, more.” Felix whines. He hates the feeling of Sylvain leaving, his weight shifting as a drawer opens with a stubborn squeak, though he laughs at the _fucking thing fucking open properly_ and reaches down to stroke himself. He catches Sylvain’s gaze and huffs.

Sylvain’s skin flushes more, blood blossoming down across his chest and leading Felix’s gaze straight down. “Sylvain…”

Bottle in hand, Sylvain clumsily waddles back to Felix, and places a chaste kiss at the base of his spine. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, “I could die happy.”

“Maybe after, c’mon, Old Man,” Felix taunts. He paints himself as a patient person. He really does, and for the most part, in court rooms and training fields and dining rooms, he’s patient. But right now, he can’t help it. Doesn’t want to, maybe.

A tongue licks a solid, wet stripe up his perineum, circling and prodding Felix’s hole.

He thinks he could cry.

He almost does, when Sylvain grabs a tuft of his hair and pulls. Hard. Felix feels the tongue again, penetrating deeper now, licks growing wetter and warmer and faster and—then nothing. Before Felix protests, he hears the cap open (with some slippery difficulty) before a slicked finger is joined by Sylvain’s tongue once more. Pain erupts from the back of his head and Sylvain twists his free hand in his hair, tugging sporadically. Felix cries out, his cock straining against the sheets. Two more fingers enter, stretching the skin to a point of burning, but not without pleasure. Tears well up in the corner of his eyes, millimetres from spilling over the edge. 

“Oh Fe, you really are beautiful,” Felix can hear the excitement through laboured breaths. A tear rolls from his eye and drips silently onto the mattress. Sylvain releases the grip on his hair, rubbing circles gently across his scalp. “Don’t want to muss this up too much,” he says. Fingers pump and twist and curl, and Felix wants to snap at him to hurry up.

“Beautiful, and needy.”

Felix has done this enough times to relax before the breach, looking back at Sylvain, currently concentrated on making this as agonizing as possible, clearly.

At this hour, it’s unlikely anyone is awake except for the staff preparing the morning breakfast. That was three floors away in a stone room, but Felix tries to suppress the groan that erupts from his chest, directed into the pillows.

“Too old to be shy there, Fe.”

“Too, ha…too old to be… some rent-a-slut either,” Sylvain laughs at this, and perhaps it motivates him to reach down to fondle Felix’s tightened ballsack. “Fuck, Syl, Syl, I—”

He doesn’t want to cum yet. He doesn’t want to get cleaned up and ready for the day, dealing with other people’s problems that they’re too stupid enough to solve on their own.

(They weren’t all that stupid. If he wasn’t so riled up, he might be a little nicer.)

“Wait, wait,” Felix cries. Sylvain stops, concerned, and pulls out.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah, I just,” Felix tightens his grip around his dick, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a breath. He rolls over, says “I wanna be in you," and lets himself calm down. Sylvain tries not to drool so obviously, but his attempt is futile when he wipes at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, shit, yeah,” Sylvain nods. Felix pulls himself up into a seated position, knees propped up and set apart. He gestures for Sylvain to come closer, being sure to kick up the bottle (careful not to loosen the cap onto their sheets, though that’s probably not as much of a concern as everything else) into his hand. Sylvain straddles Felix again, like he did at the beginning, and peppers kisses along Felix’s cheeks and nose.

  
The oil isn’t that cold, but Felix still warms it up in his palms before inserting his middle finger inside that irresistible heat. Sylvain moans and grinds down, half lidded eyes barely focused on the face before him.

“I can take a little more, Fe.”

“Guess that experience comes with age.”

“Shut up,” Sylvain grunts with the addition of another digit.

“Okay,” Felix says. He kisses Sylvain’s lips, slick with oil and fluid, but he doesn’t care. Spit trickles down his chin, sweat begins to cause his hair to wilt into waves. His other hand moves down to stroke the neglected dick simultaneous with his ministrations.

Felix removes his slick hand, using it guide Sylvain to the correct position and pushing himself up to brush against Sylvain. The other knee cracks. Felix smirks.

“Fuck, do—don’t tease anymore,” but Felix can hear the laughter in his whine. Felix kisses him again, sweetly, before letting Sylvain sink lower onto him. It takes everything to hold himself back. It doesn’t help when Sylvain whispers, “you should finish in me.”

Oh gods oh shit oh—

Felix rolls Sylvain onto his back, holding himself up and staring down at Sylvain’s face. Sweat has stuck his otherwise unruly bangs to his forehead, and his mouth pants with want. Felix can feel the warmth of his breath, or maybe it’s just proximity, or maybe it’s because he’s balls deep in the love of his life. The one who has been through his side since the beginning, the one who gets him water after a nightmare, the one who would stand in front of an army for him, the one who wants to braid his hair.

He’s overwhelmed, light-headed, his only instinct is to keep thrusting, to keep chasing that climax. He registers Sylvain guiding his hand to stroke him, their fingers overlapping each other.

Their cries and gasps grow louder, more frequent; hoarser.

“I love you,” Sylvain huffs, eyes concentrated on Felix.

Felix stills. He presses his forehead against Sylvain’s shoulder, looking down at their entwined hands and they come up, go down, up, down, up, then Sylvain bites his lip and spills onto the both of them.

“I guess we should take another bath.”

“I’m braiding your hair this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> maybe all i've eaten has been bread in the last three days. maybe not. we've all been there.


End file.
